


Not Dead Winchester!

by CastielsCarma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Stalking, Work In Progress, Writer!Cas Moviestar!Dean, maybe slow burn, not me, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 13:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Castiel Collins is stunned when he sees Dean Winchester at Walmart; a man that is supposed to have been dead for two years. He can't help but investigate the matter further.





	1. The Dead Guy Lives

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. As always I enjoy any and every comment and above all criticism. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta for all the help.

There was a dead guy at Walmart.

Castiel's other thoughts about vampires, demons and other creatures of the night just vanished and he almost walked into a shelf. As it was he just stopped short of making a fool of himself. He tried to make it look like he was observing something very interesting at said shelf and slowly turned around.

Castiel usually took the one-hour drive to restock on food and supplies once a week and then he closed himself off in his late father's house, writing away, trying to cure his writers block.

Technically it was his house now, but Castiel hadn't really made it his own yet except for getting a new bed. It was remote enough that the nearest house was a 10 minute walk away. The few neighbors that were scattered around the dense forest the cabin was in usually left him alone. It might have been the fact that most of the people living in these houses were seasonal occupants. They probably owned houses somewhere in a large bustling city and visited nature when they felt they needed to go get their green nature vibe on.

Nothing excited or noteworthy happened to him, well except for releasing a new book now and then, and now he'd met a living dead, sort of.

There, between the pumpernickel bread and some gluten free tortillas he saw him; Dean “Dead Two Years” Winchester strolling carelessly and picking up a loaf of bread. He was wearing jeans and a green sweater, casual clothes that in no way announced who he really was. Castiel was at the other end, clutching a box of cookies, eyes wide open with disbelief.

A freaking star! Sure the TV-show Not Natural was mostly about demons and monsters and people killing them and Castiel wasn't really sure how many people had watched it, but HE had watched it. Hell, Dean was the reason he had started writing horror for kids in the first place. Then the show had been quickly canceled after eight successful seasons because Dean had gone missing and there was no going back from that. All of those thoughts tumbled through Castiel's head as he ducked behind the section for mayo, dressing and croutons. He wasn't sure why he was hiding, it just felt... exciting. A man of tall stature, and a impressive beard glared at him when Castiel almost bumped into him. Castiel quickly glanced at his bald head and tattoo, mumbling an excuse as he passed him.

Castiel's mind did not play tricks on him. The shape of Dean's jaw, the haircut, the tall build with a promise of muscles underneath his clothes, his green eyes. It was him! Obsessing over a character – and actor - for eight years had made his brain memorize everything about Dean Winchester. Castiel turned a corner and walked down three aisles pretending to buy some colorful sprinkles and cookie cutters.

Why were people not stopping and staring in awe? They probably wouldn't turn and look at Castiel Collins; he was not sure a man in his forties with black ruffled hair but startling blue eyes if he could say so himself, was something to pay attention to but Dean...  
Why, Dean freaking Winchester was basically the closest thing to a celebrity the tiny town of Nantahala could ever claim to have housed. Castiel knew he was somewhat famous with the 9 to 15 year old crowd of the country but in no way was he a celebrity.

In the midst of Castiel's fan boy musings a thought struck him with horror. What if Dean had not been dead – obviously he wasn't- but something horrible had happened to him? He had been gone for two years, vanished without a trace as far as the public knew. Castiel knew his publicist had been pretty quiet except stating in some press-releases the first couple of months that Mr Winchester was fine and that sometimes people needed to be away. And then there had been silence for 18 months from Dean and his publicist.

Normal media had ran the story somewhat in the first couple of weeks but had then been busy covering the new leader of the country. Some rich TV-personality was the new president of the United States; the ride had been anything but smooth and the press had a lot of news to cover these days, forgetting all about the Winchester disappearance.

The Internet though, had been abuzz with rumors: depression had hit, Dean was drugged down in Mexico partying away, he had met the love of his life and moved to Norway of all places, he had found inner peace, he had died. Castiel had read it all on Tumblr. The rumor of death was the most persistent one, until it was a known truth.

Maybe he had been kidnapped? The thought dampened Castiel's elation at seeing the famous actor. His heartbeat quickened. Maybe Dean hadn't been kidnapped, but was kidnapped right now? Castiel grabbed some more rainbow sprinkles and headed towards the dairy section.

There Dean was, pushing his cart brimming with groceries, and looking not kidnapped at all. Castiel grabbed some cheddar cheese and looked around for anything suspicious. A couple of steps in front of him a young couple walked hand in hand, the guy holding a basket with some food stuffs. They looked perfectly normal and to Cas’ mind didn't seem to have any inclination towards kidnapping famous people and then parading them around supermarkets. Besides, Dean could probably take on both of them.

Grabbing a dozen eggs, Cas causally followed Dean, looking for any signs of foul play. He played with the thought of calling the police. Was that not the proper thing to do? Dean was supposed to be dead after all (according to strong Internet-rumors) and Castiel was sure that his publicist would be happy and his sister Charlie would probably freak out if Dean was saved. His fans would pass out! Castiel had the phone out when he remembered that the certainty of Dean Winchester's death was mostly Internet-speculation and rumors.

At Dean's right side Castiel suddenly noticed an auspicious man: a big burly guy, with a beard and a tattoo. Cas had seen the man when he was traversing the condiment aisle and now this guy was walking there, very close to Dean. Crouton-guy was following Dean! Castiel had a small voice telling him that he was technically doing the same, but he silenced it with quiet determination.

As Dean headed towards the check-out so did Mr Beard Guy! Castiel tried to look at Dean and gauge his mannerisms. He didn't seem nervous or tried to make any weird hand signals for help. Cas walked to the register next to Dean's and waited anxiously as the cashier bagged his groceries; the cookies and cookie cutters, rainbow colored sprinkles, cheese and eggs. It was kind of a meager haul for his weekly supply but nonetheless it had been the most exciting grocery trip in Castiel's life.

When Castiel had payed he noticed that the big stalker beard was already heading towards the exit. The Not Natural- star was still waiting as his groceries were being bagged. Castiel frowned. Maybe in his excitement over seeing Dean his mind had leaped ahead somewhat. There could be an another more reasonable explanation to why Dean was in Nantahala besides being held against his will.

Castiel sat in his car and adjusted the radio and his seat, casting glances at the exit now and then until he saw that Dean walked out, safe and sound. Castiel let out a sigh. It was all good. He was good. No one was kidnapped. Dean's car was parked quite a bit away from his own; a black Honda Pilot that he steered out of the parking lot towards US-129 S.

Happy that Dean was not dead and safe, Castiel decided to tuck away this amazing meeting and treasure it. It was not likely that he would ever see his favorite actor again. With those thoughts Castiel turned the car south, towards home.

Oak, white ash, sweet birch and basswood lined the road, their green canopy providing a familiar and pleasant backdrop as he was driving back to the cottage. It wasn't until Castiel had been on the road for a few minutes, casting a glance in the rear view mirror that he realized the black Honda was behind him. The notion that Dean Winchester followed him at least partly on his way to whatever made Castiel smile.

The road was pretty much going straight for an hour until you had the option to take a right, connecting to a small dirt road that led you towards Yellow Creek Lake. The sign pointing towards the lake was dirty and dinged and unnoticeable. The vast majority of people kept on driving towards Chattanooga, Knoxville or some other more civilized part of the world.

Cas’ muse needed a real fucking wake-up call so a couple of months in a cabin should do him good, but so far the little muse had not decided to show up and the pieces he wrote were scrapped right away. My mom is a mummy and Daddy is a Demon had been successful overnight, taking Castiel by surprise. Now his editor was hounding him for book three and Castiel felt stifled. His first books had been produced through want but this book needed to be out according to his publisher Hannah. Cas sighed and looked at his plastic bag of groceries. He had to drive back in a day or two to restock properly. 

A familiar bend in the road told Castiel that he was soon near Yellow Creek, less than half a mile to go. Castiel looked in the mirror and his heart skipped a beat. The black Honda was gone. He was pretty sure that he had not been passed. What could this mean? Castiel snorted. It meant that he had to get a grip on himself and try getting back to work.

Three days later and Castiel had not produced a single sentence. Oh, scrap that, he had produced something but it was nothing about demons trading souls for lollipops, or mummies getting mutilated by magic Egyptian knives. Instead Castiel has gone through his favorite episodes of Not Natural and watched Dean Winchester kick ass as Jensen Smith. Samuel Padalecki, playing Jared, Jensen's brother was equally good as an actor. But there was something in Dean's performance that captivated Castiel. Fuck, who was he kidding; it was Dean himself that had captured Castiel's interest.

Back in college Cas had slept both with guys and girls. When he had discovered Dean Winchester in the role as a kick ass demon hunter, all his spank bank material had been replaced with images of Dean as Jensen, or frankly just Dean as Dean. He wasn't picky that way.

Dean visiting his home town on a convention tour for the show and Dean noticing him in the audience, their eyes locking, and them fucking wildly just before another panel. Or Dean wanting to publish Cas’ book if he only did him the small favor of sucking his cock, or his favorite: Dean being a fan of his more mature horror stories and wanting an autograph, Cas feeling the need thrumming from Dean to just get fucked and ordering him down on his knees. Cas letting out his cock, making Dean suck it, choke on it and Dean loves it and Cas sure as hell loves it.

Castiel woke up with a start, his neck throbbing with a distant pain. He glanced at his cellphone. It was 6.35 in the morning and he had fallen asleep on the couch. With a grimace he slid off his sweat pants and underwear, smeared with dry come. Opening the lid on his laptop he cast an eye on the words he had written. Well, it was a good story. Sadly it was more about fucking Dean in the ass, than about zombie bunnies making more zombie bunnies. Cas rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. Fucking Christ, he needed Dean out of his system. Shower, shopping and scheduled writing, in that order. Brushing of the last cookie crumbs, Cas stood up and headed towards the bathroom. 

Cas was back at Walmart, grabbing the grocery list in his hand. This time he was not getting distracted by anything. Not even Dean Winchester could stop this supply run. He was feeling optimistic. His muse was alive and well and although he had written a piece that was definitely not for children's eyes, at least he had written something. Grabbing the last of the produce he needed Castiel walked towards the meats. After one hour of ticking of every single item on the list he just needed some beer and he was good to go.

That's when it happened. At the corner of his eye, Castiel saw an all-too-familiar form. Oh my God, it was Dean! At the same store, happening to be there at the same time as himself. Castiel really tried to act normal but it was like some weird instinct took over and he stepped sideways and backed out of the aisle. Hiding in another aisle away from Dean, he left his cart abandoned where it stood.

He realized he was at the diaper section. Cas took long deep breaths, calming his stuttering heart. Usually he was very calm and controlled so him reverting to a drooling mess every time he saw Dean really irked him. This time he was going to do it right. He was going to walk up casually, with confidence and present himself. Castiel tried to pretend that Dean was one of the subs he used to have. He was a picture- perfect example of control around them- but all that mental picture got him now was a hard-on.

Castiel moved some diapers out of the way and peeked through the gap, trying to see Dean again. He could see the beers straight ahead. He adjusted his jacket, and raked his fingers through his hair. He was ready to take the plunge.

Suddenly he felt a strong hand grab his arm and turn him around. A hand quickly covered his mouth as he was forcefully pushed against the diaper shelf.


	2. I'm so not stalking you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's apparently very hard not to follow Dean Winchester as Castiel quickly discovers. With some secret help he is on a somewhat foolish mission to track Dean down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my lovely beta for doing an amazing job!
> 
> Hope you enjoy =)

Castiel moaned as the impact reverberated throughout his body: from pain or pleasure he wasn't quite sure of.

“Why the hell are you following me?”

Dean Winchester glared down at him and not until Castiel raised an eyebrow did the hand covering his mouth let go.

“I was not - “ He winced as he felt the hard edge of the shelf cut into his back.

“I saw you, you know. The first time you were skulking around like a weirdo.” Dean whispered, not wanting the other customers to overhear them.

Castiel can't believe that he is in such close proximity to Dean. The thought was heady. “I was definitely not skulking. I was merely following you... from a distance... not trying to be seen.”

Dean laughs and his face that was previously all hard angles and anger briefly light up. Then he is all serious again and those green eyes narrow, gaze straight at Castiel.

“So? Anything you want to say to me?”

Castiel wants to say that he loves Dean's portrayal as Jensen on the show. He wants to say a thank you to Dean for giving him the idea that launched his new career. He wants to say that he always found him hot as fuck. He wants to say that he masturbated to vivid images of Dean kneeling on the floor with a vibrator in his ass. Maybe the last would be a bit much to say on a first encounter. So he goes for something else.

“I'm sorry... Why are you not dead?”

Dean lets go of him and adjusts his sweater. His breathing has calmed down somewhat and he is looking at Castiel like he is totally out of his mind.

“Why the fuck would I be dead?”

Castiel shrugs. “I don't know. Maybe cause Not Natural got canceled despite very good ratings. You suddenly vanished and your publicist was acting all kinds of weird.” He pauses. “I read it on Tumblr,” he finishes quietly.

“Tumblr?” Dean mumbles. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He backs away, letting Castiel have his space. “So I figure you are not a reporter then?”

Castiel licks his lips and clears his throat. Casting his eyes on his shopping cart, he checks that it's still there, and then his eyes are on Dean again.

“No, I'm a writer actually. We are kind of in the same field.”

Curiosity makes Dean's eyes lit up and Castiel finds them captivating. His thoughts go elsewhere, but he firmly shuts those down. He is finally starting to be himself again, not acting like some 15 year-old boy all breathless seeing his celebrity crush for the first time.

“We are? I know where you recognize me from...” His smile fades a bit. “I can't say the same for you though.”

“You wouldn't, I don't think. I'm Castiel Collins. I write horror stories for kids.”

He extends his hand but then drops it slowly as Dean just stares at him. Of course. Cas had technically stalked him twice, so why would he want to shake Cas' hand? Well from now on Castiel would be all calm and courteous and not act creepy stalker at all.

A small smile plays on Dean's lips and he grabs Castiel's hand.

“I'm Dean Winchester. Formerly star of Not Natural and not dead. Nice to meet you.”

Dean's hand is somewhat calloused but firm. They shake hands and let go.

“Nice to meet you too.”

Dean seems to be waiting for something and after a pregnant pause Castiel can't help himself.

“Is something on your mind?”

Dean considers that for a second. His eyes flicker down to Cas's shoes and then trails up until their eyes meet again.

Warmth shoots through Castiel's body. The TV-show sure didn't do him justice. In real life his features are more stunning, but the most compelling beauty on Dean is the smile that is always there. He rarely had reasons to smile on the show as his character Jensen.

“Just wondering if you are the I-love-you-so-much-I-want-to-kill-you-fan, or the Please-can-I-have-a-picture-of-you- fan?” Dean says with a smooth lilt to his voice.

Castiel quirks a smile at that. I'm the I-want-to-fuck-you-kind.

“I can assure you Mr Winchester, I'm more the latter kind of fan”, Castiel says, a hint of humor in his voice. He pauses and then adds: “Contrary to my previous... behavior. I got carried away somewhat.”

Dean scoffs at that. “You don't say- so do you want one?”

“Yes, thank you so much.” Castiel smiles brightens. This was going much better than anticipated.

Dean waves Castiel over as Cas reaches for his phone. He put the camera on selfie-mode. The TV-star adjusts a sweater that doesn't need adjusting and rakes his fingers through his hair. Standing behind Cas, Dean's arm is heavily draped over Cas shoulders. The camera goes of and there it is. Proof that this hasn't been some weird dream conjured by Cas' brain, that is too tired to come up with stories but apparently energized enough to hallucinate this intricate scenario.

“For your eyes only.” Dean looks at Castiel with those emerald eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him. Cas has this notion of being measured and then deemed worthy. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck rise up in anticipation. It's a look that usually Cas is responsible of handing out himself, but he will not lie. It sends shivers of pleasure right down to his cock. No wonder his subs love him.

Castiel clears his throat, as if that action will do the same to his mind. “Of course. And thank you.”

Dean just nods. “Happy to meet you, Castiel. It's been awhile since I've meet fans that try to put on a semblance of normalcy.” He hesitates and then smiles. “Well, semblance is the keyword. You did follow me after all. Oh, and next time you want a picture, just ask. Okay?”

Castiel puts the phone away in his back pocket. “There will be a next time?”

Dean Winchester just smiles as he turns on his heel and walks away.

On the road home Castiel has time to sift through his thoughts and they are plenty, buzzing around with excitement. So, him meeting Dean Winchester again, at the same remote Walmart in the space of a couple of days couldn't be a haphazard chance. This meant that Dean was relatively close by. Coupled with the fact that on his previous encounter Cas had seen his car just vanish around Yellow Creek Lake could only mean one thing. Dean was really close by.

His second thought was that obviously Tumblr had been wrong. Dean was not dead at all, but alive and well, healthy as a clam. Castiel had somewhat remedied the picture of him being a crazy stalker fan by having a normal conversation with him. Dean did agree to take a selfie with Cas after all. They seemed to have a good time together, however brief it had been.

The third thought, the most insistent one that refused to die down, was that Cas had the distinct impression that Dean wanted to meet him again. Castiel was not opposed to that idea at all; judging from the smile Dean had flashed him before leaving. Cas circled back to his first thought again. He was pretty adamant that his eyes had not deceived him regarding Dean's whereabouts last time Cas had.. accompanied Dean's car. He was somewhere close to him. Cas knew it. It was time to do something about it.

Castiel's fingers are flying over the keys. The words he is producing are more towards the R-rated kind but he doesn't complain. Auntie is an angel will be slightly more graphic, but on the other hand his fan base is older than last year, so why not accommodate them. He can always edit out some of the more disturbing things later. He grabs some walnuts and chews them down. As long as his muse is alive and kicking he is not going to complain, not one fucking bit.

When the soft blue glow of his laptop becomes more of a stabbing light in his eyes, Castiel knows that it's time to stop for a couple of hours. He rolls his neck and shoulders, letting the kinks out but can't help the grin spreading over his face. Fucking finally! Castiel doesn't know how long this sudden inspiration from his muse will last but he is grateful nonetheless. After sending his editor a hopeful email reporting his progress he gets up, brushing of the walnut peels that have been trapped in his lap. He needs to vacuum that before he goes to bed, he thinks absentmindedly.

The evening has already blanketed the cabin in darkness but Castiel doesn't mind. He walks around the house and lights a few lamps that spread a welcoming glow, chasing away some of the shadows. A hollow feeling in his stomach reminds him that he hasn't eaten anything for a couple of hours besides the nuts. They hardly count as a wholesome meal. Rummaging through the fridge he finds some zucchini, bell peppers and mushrooms. That combined with some crushed tomatoes and pasta will make a good dinner. Castiel decide to triple the portions, so he doesn't have to interrupt whatever flow he has writing, to cook food. Soon the kitchen is filled with the pleasant smell of garlic, thyme and basil as the tomato sauce is simmering.

Castiel turns on the TV and flips mindlessly until he comes across a bake-off show. He has always loved those shows. Something so simple as a sugar cookie or a lemon pound cake is crafted meticulously. The amount of sugar measured with great care, the temperature of the butter just so, the amount of time whisking the batter so it doesn't become to dense and inedible; it all spoke of care, planning and precise performance. With baking you had all the necessary components, and a recipe to follow. Orders and execution was clear cut and any failure to produce the desired outcome lay solely in the baker's hand.

During a break in the show Castiel puts on some water to boil for the pasta. Taking a seat again on the worn but still comfortable couch, he takes out his phone and opens up the gallery. The photo solidifies a feeling of realness that would otherwise escape him. He is looking somewhat surprised but at least he is presentable. His black hair is disheveled, it always is, no matter how he tries to style it and Dean's arm is slung over his shoulder. Cas is leaning in somewhat towards Dean with a smile so huge that the laugh crinkles around his eyes are showing. The object of his elation - or maybe it is obsession- on the other hand is seemingly composed. He is not looking directly at the camera though, his eyes downcast in such a way to make Castiel's heart pound faster. His full lips are not curved up in a smile, but there is a playfulness there, a hint of promises to come. Castiel snorts as he locks his phone. He is reading in way too much into a picture. Turning off the TV, Castiel heads to the kitchen to do the last preparations for dinner. After the plate and cutlery are set, he drains the pasta and tosses it together with the tomato-sauce.

He eats in silence. He is not one to shy away from the absence of sound. Being a writer makes it a prerequisite in his mind. Of course there are those authors that listen to music, bird-chirping or the hushed whispers of the TV in the background. Castiel always found those sounds too distracting. What brought him comfort was the clatter of fingers over laptop keys, his own measured breathing and the steady beat of his heart; nothing more and nothing less. Scooping of the last of the sauce with his fork he puts the dirty dishes away. The darkness is closer to being called midnight than evening and Castiel feels in his body the heaviness the day had brought with it.

Deciding on a quick shower before tumbling down into bed, he walks into the bathroom. He unzips his pants and then goes to twist the shower head knob on. As warm water makes a soothing sound against the cold gray tiles and a clammy mist fills up the room, Castiel removes his sweater and T-shirt in one sweep. He lets them hang on a towel rack and pulls down his pants, letting them drop on the floor with a thud. When Cas leans down to pick up his jeans he notices something has fallen out of the pocket.

A small rectangular card lays innocuously on the tiles, demanding attention. Eyes raised in confusion Castiel picks up the unfamiliar card. Scribbled down in elegant numbers and letters are what appear to be coordinates. After what seems like a good moment of rational thinking and clear, concise thoughts, Castiel turns off the water to the shower and puts his clothes back on. The crunch of walnut peels under his shoes are ignored as he grabs the note and his cellphone, closing the door as he walks out into the chilly night-air.

This has got to be the worst idea Cas has had in awhile. Well technically awhile is more like a couple of hours ago, because he did stalk a celebrity that morning but who is really counting? Squinting his eyes he looks down at his cellphone screen. A soft rain had drizzled down while Castiel had been fully immersed in writing, his soaking shoes being a living proof of that now. Ignoring the highly uncomfortable feeling of sluggish cotton against his feet he trudges on. The notion that this is the third time he follows Dean almost makes him laugh out loud, part in amazement, part in dubious belief at his own actions.

The dense undergrowth in the forest makes it difficult to walk with any notion of speed. That combined with slick tree roots, slippery rocks and greenery that clings to Cas, wanting to entrap him makes for slow progress. The wetness of his shoes and socks had traveled up to his shins, making it even more cumbersome to walk. To make matters worse he didn't have the presence of mind to bring a flashlight with him. The GPS combined with the small flashlight built into his phone that he had put his faith in, was draining his battery at a leisure pace.

Cas notices that his midnight stroll is becoming a midnight climb as his path takes him steadily uphill. After 30 minutes of walking with nothing to guide him besides the soft, slowly dying glow of his phone and the orange arrows pointing the way like a lighthouse for wayward sailors Castiel glances at the screen again. If he can trust the directions he is given, he should be at the coordinates in a few minutes. The slow incline had given way to more level ground some time back and Castiel found himself looking down at a slight slope. Beneath the declination hidden among oaks and birch trees, is a house of considerable size.

Castiel looks at his phone and then turns off the flashlight and GPS to save the dwindling battery. The faint light coming of the screen doesn't do much to illuminate a path. He sighs in exasperation as he glances back into darkness. Leaves rustling, the murky ground and shadowy spindly fingers posing as branches are the only reminders that this is indeed a forest and not something more sinister. Not moving finds Castiel being acutely aware of the increasing chill permeating the air. The coolness clashes with Castiel's clammy body heated up from the walking and he shivers hard.

He could go down there and take a look, but considering that he still has the coordinates he could come back at a more appropriate time. Now that he really thinks about it, he wishes that this genius idea had come to him earlier. Instead of being in his bed jacking off to images of fucking Dean Winchester he was out in the dead of night, probably being the butt of some elaborate joke, courtesy of Dean fucking Winchester. Castiel much preferred the first fucking to the latter. It was time to head back home. If he was somewhat swift he could be home and still catch some hours of sleep before morning beckoned. Bending down to adjust the wet pants clinging to his legs, Castiel suddenly feels the ground underneath give way. He tumbles downhill, hard rocks sending jolts of pain through him as sharp twigs lashes open skin. Castiel bites back a scream.

As he finally comes to a sudden halt, Castiel finds himself at the bottom of the slope. He rolls onto one side, escaping something that poked him painfully in the back and tries to asses his situation. He wonders briefly if he put the food back in the fridge and a little giggle escapes him, the absurdity of the thought not going unnoticed. A couple of deep breaths later he has calmed himself enough to realize his body hums with pain. It is not entirely unpleasant.

Castiel hisses as he tries to loosen his grip on the phone but his fingers are like a vice around the device. After a few moments and lots of wiggling his hand finally relaxes and he heaves himself up. Each step he takes sends a jolt of pain up through his ass and Cas clenches his teeth trying not to shiver too much. His clothes are in different states of dampness but at least the house is within sight. The prospect of someplace warm, hot water running down his body and sleep makes him moan in anticipation, but there is also a twinge of anger there. A shower and some sleep and then Dean Winchester will get the scolding of a lifetime, famous TV-star be damned. With the mood Castiel suddenly finds himself in, the scolding will probably be a starter course instead of dessert.

A faint glow is coming from one of the windows as Castiel approaches a sturdy front door made from some polished wood. He stands tall, raking his fingers through his hair to remove some twigs and leaves. Brushing of dirt and wetness from his face, he notices some discoloration on the fabric. Probably blood from the numerous scratches Castiel can feel adorning his skin. He tries not to think too much about his actual appearance; a little dirt and grime can never dull a true beauty.

Knocking on the door, he waits impatiently. Each breath makes his ribs expand painfully but at least the dull ache around his sitting bones has diminished. Not hearing the soft footfalls approaching Cas knocks again, this time with more force. The impact sends jolts of pain through his hand, and Cas softly sighs. Finally he can hear someone. When the door opens tentatively, Castiel is done with pretense. He barges inside, ignoring the look of surprise on Dean Winchester's face.


	3. Here I am again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting with Dean ends on a note Castiel wasn't expecting.
> 
> ________________________________________________________________________________________

**C** astiel, what are you doing here?” The look of surprise on Dean Winchester's face quickly turns into concern and worry as he takes in Castiel's scruffy and battered appearance. “You are hurt. Let me -”

“I think you have done enough, “ Castiel grits out through clenched teeth. He knows he is not making any sense right now, but he is too tired to really care. Looking down he realizes he has dragged a small swamp in with him; water, leaves and mud covers not only him but the hallway he stands in. Dean is wearing a pair of boxers and a black T-shirt, probably getting ready for bed, and still he is looking good, more so then Castiel thinks is fair. He removes his wet sweater and chucks it on the floor.

Dean immediately picks it up. He doesn't say anything about Castiel's weird outburst.  
“Let me take that for you.” Castiel is shivering, wet and looks like he has had a wrestling match with the forest. “Take your shoes off and follow me, I'll show you to the bathroom where you can clean up and take a shower.”

They walk in silence, Castiel's wet feet making squishy sounds on the wooden floor. Taking a quick look back Dean sees Castiel look around, eyes huge despite him looking like shit, limping along. The house Dean called home most of the time was more on the luxurious side, then the typical tourist cabin in the woods. High ceiling, walls painted in cream with wooden details around the windows and doors, polished floors with thick carpets.

Castiel looks up as they pass the living room – a huge ornate lamp is hanging from the ceiling and then he notices the huge fireplace with dark stones creeping up the wall and the L-shaped couch with the marble table. He mutters something that clearly sounds like displeasure and Dean can't help but smile. Opening a door, Dean motions for Castiel to get inside.

“There are clean towels on the bench and shampoo and soap to clean yourself with in the shower.” Looking at Castiel's face and glancing down to his hip, Dean sighed. “You take your time. I will get something for your um... behind. Just toss the wet clothes on the floor, I'll take care of it for you. “

The thought of imminent warm water makes Castiel relax somewhat; he needs a shower, a good clean-up and shut-eye. As the door closes behind him he lets out a sigh. Looking around he tries to no be impressed but fails. The bathroom is something all together different then back at Castiel's cabin. Grey stone, sleek fancy faucets, plush bathroom rug that he digs his toes into. He takes off his clothes and lets them fall on the floor. His skin is covered in goosebumps. When he is to remove his pants they cling to him like a second skin. After jumping around like a flamingo on speed for several seconds he gives up and carefully sits down on the bench. Inch by inch he pulls the pants down until he can climb out of them. Underwear faces the same faith and then Castiel steps into the shower.

The shower stall is made of some gray stone, marble maybe or lime stone, charcoal perhaps. Could you even make walls of charcoal? Castiel wasn't really sure but he was writing about killer mummies and vampires befriending puppies, so what did he really know about stones. Turning the water on, he moves back against the wall and lets the water heat up. When it's comfortable enough he gets under the spray and sighs. It's like being pebbled by the sweet kisses of baby Jesus himself.

Grabbing a soap Castiel takes a whiff. It smells of coconut, probably organic and made from the really nice coconut parts. He lathers himself up and curses loudly as his body flares up in pain. Note to self, soap in wounds sting. Quickly he rinses the soap of and then grabs the shampoo. Another whiff and he wrinkles his nose in disgust. Squinting Castiel reads the label. Tea-tree. Sure Dean, you have this mega-killer cabin in the middle of the woods but you still use shampoo that smells like dead animal.  
He still applies it to his hair, building up a lather, massaging his scalp and then lets the water clean him off as he tries to ignore the burning sensation on his arms and face. Castiel stands there for a while, letting the warm water pour over him as steam rises high. Soon the irrational anger he felt at Dean is gone, replaced by contentment at feeling clean and warm again.

When the hot water slowly turns lukewarm, he scurries out of the shower and wraps himself up in a thick towel. Next to the towels are some sweatpants, clean underwear and a T-shirt. His wet clothes are nowhere to be seen. Dean had probably been here while Castiel had indulged himself in a steaming. The thought of Dean accidentally seeing Cas naked in the shower stirs up something inside of him, but he is too tired to be overly excited; and it's very unlikely that Dean saw anything anyway since there is a marble-charcoal wall in the way. Tomorrow will be a new day for sexy thoughts about Dean and not so foolish actions from Cas. Bending down Castiel grimaces at the pain on his bottom when he hears a knock on the door.

“Come in, I'm done and decent.” Castiel grimaces. Why did he add that last word? Of course he was decent. Great, now Dean would go around thinking not only that he was Mr Weird Stalker but that he also moonlighted as a flasher.

Dean enters, holding a small tube of some ointment in his hand. Smiling softly he hands the tube over.

“You look much better now. The dirt and mud look was so 2005.” His green eyes lit up at his own joke, but then he turns serious as he quickly looks Castiel over, eyes lingering on his stomach, maybe the hipbones. Dean turns abruptly, clearing his throat. “Anyway, I'm sure you can manage the next part by yourself. I'll show you were you can sleep when you are done.”

When Castiel finishes, Dean is waiting outside, casually leaning against the wall looking at his phone. Hearing the door open, he looks up.

“Much more presentable Cas. Can I call you Cas? Castiel doesn't exactly flow easy on the tongue. You wouldn't believe how many retakes I had to do while saying Hahasiah.”

Castiel nods. “Sure, Cas is fine.” Of course Cas was fine! It was one step closer to something, that Cas hadn't defined quite yet.

Dean leads Castiel down a dimly lit hallway, with a room at the far end. “This is a guest room, it's pretty small but the bed is good. You have some more clothes in the dresser. You own clothes will be clean and dry for tomorrow. If you are still here then, that is.”

Castiel looks up, eyes widening in surprise. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, a smile plays over Dean's lips. “I don't know. You are like some magical girl, suddenly you are there, and then you are not. Kind of like Sailor Moon but more seinen, and less shojo. You appear here in the middle of the night, with fucking murder in your eyes, straight out of a horror movie with blood all over. I'm starting to think you are the I-want-to-kill-you-kind of fan despite your earlier statement, and that you were disappointed in my non-death.”

Opening his mouth to protest, Castiel realizes that he doesn't have a good answer. Dean's description doesn't paint a pretty picture but to Castiel's shame it's a fairly accurate one. Well, if you substitute kill with fuck, but Castiel is not going to correct Dean on that part.

“Here, take these against the pain. You have a glass of water on the night-stand. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm beat. My bedroom is right opposite the hall.” Dean gestures vaguely. “We can have the rest of this conversation in the morning. I'm a late sleeper.” He hands Castiel some pills. “Sleep well, Cas.” With that Dean turns around, leaving him alone.

“You too, Dean.”

Taking the pills in mouth Castiel swallows them with some lukewarm water. Crawling down into a warm bed feels like he is being reborn again and he can almost pretend that the whole ordeal has been a bad memory. Fuck, the mattress was memory-foam. Castiel sighs as he sinks down slightly; it feels really pleasant. Realizing that he hadn't even freaked out being around Dean Winchester, well if you didn't take the little rage-episode into account was a win. Almost as an afterthought he recognizes that he had completely forgotten to ask Dean about the note with the coordinates. Yawning once, that thought fades away quickly as Castiel is overtaken by sleep.

 

 **C** onfusion makes way for clarity and Castiel turns around, hiding his face in the pillow when he realizes what had happened yesterday. Quickly getting dressed he heads out, he needs to apologize and leave. Castiel finds Dean in the kitchen. Something is sizzling in a pan. Clearing his throat, Dean turns around, a kitchen towel draped over one shoulder.

“Ah you are awake. Good, you want eggs sunny-side up? I also have some bacon frying and killer jam that is awesome on toast.” Wearing blue jeans that hugs his ass perfectly and a green Henley showing off the best of him, Dean is stunning to Cas' eyes. Well, Cas is sure Dean could pull of wearing a burlap sack and still look gorgeous.

Castiel's first intention is to turn the offer down and leave, forget about the note, his injuries, his reckless behavior yesterday. It's just that staring at Dean he realizes that he doesn't want to. “Thanks. That sounds delicious.”

Dean just turns to the stove again and cracks another egg in the pan. “I did some more research on you,” Dean says as he moves the spatula around. “I mean you could be a really creepy guy that stalks me and tries to murder me in my sleep.”

Sitting down on a chair at the table Castiel makes himself comfortable.“Can't beat the research I've done about you.” Castiel grimaces. That came out wrong. Let's try that again, and not make it too obsessive-looking. “Sorry about that. Look, I know how this all seems but I wasn't really thinking rationally. I didn't stop and consider that you were a real person you know. All I could think about was that you were someone I really admire, Jensen, awesome hunter and – “

Cutting him of, Dean doesn't acknowledge the things Castiel has told him. “Really good books Cas, although don't you think they are kind of bloody and violent for being marketed towards kids?”

“You read my books?” There is surprise in Cas' voice.

Dean removes the eggs from the stove and starts plating up. “Well, it's not _that_ big of an accomplishment, Cas. I think I can plow through 200 pages in one sitting, if it's engaging. _Daddy is a demon_ was particularly gruesome. That scene were Adam needed those ingredients for the spell, and he went to that butcher... I mean, how old is Adam, nine?”

Castiel looks at Dean with large eyes. Why would a famous movie-star want to read his books? Yes, he had mentioned them in the store but Dean was a supernova celebrity whose fans gravitated towards him whereas Cas was a little chunk of rock floating around in space all lost and confused and picking up fans on a whim.

“Adam is eleven... and thanks. That's why I'm here you know, to write the third installment of the series, but I have come to a halt in the creative process so to speak.” He grimaces.

Taking a seat opposite to Cas, Dean grabs a piece of toast. “Dig in while it's hot. So you don't really know where to take the story?”

The toast is hot and the butter and jam together melts on the bread. Taking a huge bite, Cas almost moans. He hasn't eaten in a long time and suddenly he feels like he can devour the whole breakfast in minutes. A breakfast Dean has made for him, well not only for Cas but the sentiment is still there.

“Mm, sort of writer's block. The first two books were fun, but now I feel this pressure, like I need to perform and all my creative juice has just run dry.”

Dean starts to lick some butter of his lips and Cas can't help himself, how his eyes are drawn to the motion. Noticing that Castiel is eyeing him Dean deliberately slows down, his eyes drilling into Cas', issuing a silent challenge.

“I hate when that happens. I like my juices to flow freely. I bet all that _pressure_ must be killing you. I act out things that other people write, but if you'd ask me to fucking write something longer then two pages, nah not my thing at all. Anything I can help you with? To relive that _hard_ pressure?” Dean's eyes flicker hastily down to Cas' crotch, then he takes another bite of his toast.

Fuck, what is going on? Cas is not sure if he is imagining this or if it's actually happening. The chair is suddenly uncomfortable and he feels the hard wood putting pressure on all the wrong places on his sore ass. Noticing that Castiel is squirming, Dean gets up.

“One second, I will get you a soft pillow. I forgot that you are probably in pain still. Fucking stupid stunt you pulled.” Dean shakes his head. “I'll give you another painkiller too.”

Cas takes the pill and swallows in with some juice. The pillow gives him some relief from the ache. “I was intrigued when I found the note. And then I thought I'd just check it out, how far could your place be anyway? You did gave me the coordinates after all.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah I did, but for a later time. Not for you to march through the woods and stumble inside my house looking all broken and bloody. I like this cleaner version of you better Cas, although some dirty things are not always bad.”

Picking up the mug with coffee Dean takes a sip. His eyes are narrowed but Cas can see the tell-tale signs of Dean's enjoyment; the wrinkles around his eyes, how one eyebrow is slightly arched up. Cas has watched the show and convention clips enough times to know when either Jensen or Dean are amused.

The notion of dirty things and Dean, them together, conjures up all sorts of images in Cas' mind. Images he has tried hard to suppress but how can he now when Dean Winchester is flirting with him. At least Cas thinks that Dean is flirting with him. Usually he would be sure, but Dean is anything but usual.

“Mm, maybe not all of them.” Jesus, and he is supposed to be a writer, master of words and what not.

“Yeah, definitely not all of them. More toast?” Dean asks and Cas accepts.

Finishing breakfast Dean follows Castiel to the door. Cas is trying not look too impressed but daylight makes the place even fancier then he remembered. “Thanks for everything, Dean. I... Maybe we will see each other again, under different circumstances.”

“I hope so.” Dean gives Castiel a note. “It's another piece of paper. My phone number. You won't do anything stupid with it?”

Cas huffs out a laugh. “No, I don't plan on it.”

“Good, call me. You know, at your place, no skulking around this time. And then we can decide on a time.”

Cas tries to hide his confusion, making his question sound casual. “Time?”

“Yeah, a time. For our date? That's what normal people do, right? When they like someone, ask them out for a date?” Dean is grinning, and then he turns around and grabs a jacket, putting it on.

“So?”

Not really sure what the right answer is, well Cas knows what the right answer is but he is unsure if he should say it. “You are putting on your jacket?” Everything is apparently a question right now.

Dean is still smiling. “Yes, it's cold and I need to drive you home. Or do you want to take the some route home again?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, I'd rather go for a ride.”

“I bet you do. I assume that's a yes then... for the date?”

“Yes, I will call you later about a time. For a date. You and me?”

Grabbing the car keys, Dean ushers Cas out the door. “Yes, you and me. I hope you are more talkative in the car, or this will be a long ride home.”


End file.
